No Woods So Dark as These Read online

  Just prior to his partner’s discovery of the medication in the bathroom, Trooper Boyd opened a drawer in the bedside table and there observed an open Altoids box containing a white powdery substance, a ziplock bag containing approximately one-half ounce of what appeared to be cannabis, and $2,743 in cash. After conferring with his station commander by cell phone, Trooper Boyd photographed those items but did not remove them from the drawer.

  Throughout the booking process at the county jail, while being fingerprinted and photographed and divested of her pink velour jogging suit, McNulty refused to answer all questions and instead loudly berated every individual with whom she came into contact. She also refused her right to a telephone call, because “you motherfuckers will be listening in on every word I say!” She refused the offer of a public defender to represent her in court.

  In her cell, awaiting arraignment, McNulty turned her face to the wall and continued talking, though at a lower decibel level. A passerby might have assumed that she was praying, but anyone within range would hear few words included in any prayer book. At that point, the only charge against her was for solicitation of prostitution. In hopes that she might soften her attitude and give up some information, she was informed that she would likely remain in that cell for up to seventy-two hours before the DA scheduled an arraignment.

  Because McNulty would answer no questions regarding her Suboxone dosage reduction schedule, or for which drug or drugs she was being treated with Suboxone, she was placed on a two-hour watch schedule for possible withdrawal symptoms and was allocated one Tegretol capsule with breakfast and dinner.

  Before vacating the Reddick home at the request of the troopers, the civilian consultants Matson and DeMarco were able to observe that one large room in the house was set up for the fulfillment of orders from Reddick’s website: rolls of mailing labels and shipping tape, stacks of Priority mailing boxes of various sizes, rolls of Bubble Wrap, and bags full of foam peanuts all neatly lined against the walls. A digital scale, presumably for weighing packages about to be shipped, sat atop a small folding table.

  * * *

  After McNulty’s arrest, Miller, Matson, and DeMarco returned to the Troop D station house, where Miller had left his car. During the twenty-five-minute drive, DeMarco speculated on the fact that neither of the three, during their brief time inside the Reddick home, had seen a desktop or laptop computer.

  “Wherever Reddick is,” he said, “he either has it with him or he got rid of it entirely. It’s impossible to guess what lake or river it might be in. He cleaned up everything before he left.”

  Jayme said, “I wonder why he didn’t take McNulty with him?”

  DeMarco pursed his lips and shook his head. “Let’s hope he lives to regret that decision.”

  Jayme said, “Maybe she was his listening post. Keeping him apprised of any developments.”

  “Makes sense,” DeMarco said. “I’m fairly certain this was a closed system. Reddick, McNulty, Jakiella, and Sullivan. With Sonny and Amber in jail, McNulty would be his only source of information.”

  “Which means there must have been some phone contact between them. Something to track down.”

  “Not necessarily. If they were smart—and it’s clear that Reddick is no dummy—she would have a burner hidden somewhere but would use it only once.”

  “Either to give him the all clear or to tell him to keep running.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Do you think McNulty will crack?” Miller asked.

  “I’m betting no.”

  Jayme said, “If she doesn’t, we’ll have to break one of the softer ones.”

  “You never know,” DeMarco said. “Another night in jail might soften Sonny up. Especially when we tell him that we have Cheryl too. Boyd might have some qualms about lying to him about what she has or hasn’t told us, but we’re all just stupid civilians. Who knows what we might say?”

  Minutes later, DeMarco pulled into the parking lot and eased into a space near Miller’s car. He turned then to address Miller, who had been silent throughout most of the drive. “We won’t be needing you tomorrow, Chase. But what you did today…it got us where we are. You delivered, and we’re all grateful for that.”

  “Thanks,” the young man said, but without lifting his gaze to the rearview mirror. He popped open the door to climb out.

  DeMarco said, “Hold up. I’ll walk you to your car.”

  Miller walked briskly and DeMarco had to hurry to catch up to him just as the young man thumbed down the remote button to unlock his door. “Hey,” DeMarco said. “You understand that you can’t write about any of this yet, yes?”

  “Of course,” Miller said.

  “Not a word. Not anywhere. I need your promise on that.”

  “You have it,” Miller said. “I promise.”

  The young man was too subdued and DeMarco thought he knew why. He softened his voice even more. “Listen,” he said. “If you’re feeling like things went a little too far with McNulty—and nobody needs to know how far they went—just forget about it. She solicited you, you handed her the money, end of story.”

  Miller stared at the gravel. Then looked up. “What about when it goes to court? Is she going to talk about it then? Will I have to?”

  “Nah,” DeMarco said. “It will never get that far. She’ll plead guilty in exchange for a reduced sentence. There won’t even be a trial.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Ninety-nine percent,” DeMarco said. “She didn’t video anything, did she?”

  “No, thank God.”

  “Then we’re good. Go home, take it easy, get some rest. You don’t work tonight, do you?”

  “I took the whole day off. Wasn’t sure how long you would need me.”

  “Then enjoy your free time. Do you have a girlfriend somewhere?”

  “No. Not really.”

  “Take it from me,” DeMarco told him, and placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder, “the right girlfriend changes everything. You just need to find her.”

  “I’ll keep looking,” Miller told him. “Thanks.”

  DeMarco nodded and turned away. Took a few steps from the car, then turned again. “Have you ever considered a career in law enforcement?”

  “Me?” Miller asked, surprised. “No, sir, I haven’t. I’m probably not very trainable.”

  DeMarco laughed, turned and headed for his own vehicle. “Singing my tune, son. You’re singing my tune.”

  Seventy-One

  The bad news came early in the morning in the form of a 3:14 phone call from Trooper Boyd. “Amber Sullivan passed away, Sergeant. Heart failure. They brought her back a couple of times but she wouldn’t stabilize. I just now left her mother.”

  “Oh lord,” DeMarco said.

  Jayme was lying beside him, awake, eyebrows raised. Hero, when the phone first vibrated, had already risen from the floor on Jayme’s side to come around the foot of the bed and stand there looking up at DeMarco.

  “Thank you, Mace,” DeMarco said into the phone. “Let’s get together this morning, okay? How’s nine for you and Flores?”

  “Nine’s good. See you then.”

  DeMarco ended the call and told Jayme, “It’s Amber. Heart failure.”

  “She’s gone?” Jayme asked, her eyes already shining with tears.

  He nodded.

  “That poor girl.”

  He nodded again. Put his hand out and rubbed Hero’s snout. “Lie down, boy. It’s okay, lie down.”

  Hero licked his hand once, then walked in a tight circle before lying down next to the bed.

  Jayme said, “I’m going to pray for her.”

  DeMarco placed the phone back on the bedside table, then turned to lie facing her, their hands touching. “I will too,” he said.

  “Tell your boy she’s coming.”

 
“I hope she’s already there.”

  “I don’t even like to think about the life she must have led. All that pain every day.”

  He nodded. “Georgina and Diana too. And Suzi. Let’s hope they’re all out of it now. No more pain.”

  “We should go to her funeral.”

  “We could, if you really want to. Though that’s all just for show, you know.”

  A tear slid across the bridge of her nose. “Do you think we had anything to do with her death?”

  “I think everybody who ever hurt her or used her had something to do with it. Us included.”

  “Oh, baby. That makes me feel so bad.”

  “It makes me angry.”

  “That too. But right now I just want to cry awhile.”

  He tightened his arm around her. “You go ahead. We’ll be angry together tomorrow.”

  They held each other, shuddered and wept for the girl they hardly knew, Jayme’s tears falling onto his chest, his into her hair.

  Seventy-Two

  DeMarco said, “We need one team to drive up to Saegertown and push Sonny hard. Three counts of murder one, manslaughter for Amber, possession and distribution, whatever else you can think of. Lay it on thick. Promise him we’ll press for the death penalty. Don’t play nice. Bring up his daughters. What it’s going to do to them. He’s been without drugs for a while now, so find every weak spot you can and rip it open.”

  “You’re looking at me,” Trooper Boyd said with a small smile, “so…you want Jayme and me to go?”

  “Actually, no,” DeMarco said. “I guess I was just thinking out loud. Flores and I are a better fit for this one. You guys take McNulty. Everybody okay with that?”

  They were spread out around the conference table this time, at least one empty seat between each of them, as if each had come into the room already isolated by their own thoughts, their own emotions, and were in a state of mind to preserve that isolation. Boyd had started the meeting by informing them that Reddick’s website had disappeared, that a BOLO for Reddick had been issued, the Washington County State Police alerted to the possibility that he might be hiding out in Lost City, the Elk County State Police surveilling his mother’s home in Benezette and checking on all rental cabins in the area, Canadian Border Services Agency alerted, all precautions being taken.

  “Cell phone data?” DeMarco asked.

  “No pings,” said Boyd.

  “So he’s on high alert,” Jayme said. “He’s running.”

  DeMarco nodded. “Or hiding.”

  Boyd said, “McNulty will probably make bail today.”

  Flores asked, “What if the DA argues that she’s a suspect in a murder case?”

  DeMarco shrugged. “You can run it past Captain Bowen, but I doubt it will fly. There’s zero evidence to support it. In fact, Jakiella’s confession contradicts McNulty’s involvement.”

  “She’s still a person of interest,” Jayme said.

  Boyd told her, “To us she is. Her lawyer’s going to claim entrapment. We have the recording to rebut that. But right now we don’t have a thing to suggest that either she or Reddick was involved in the murders.”

  DeMarco frowned, acknowledging the truth. “Do we know where Reddick banks?”

  Boyd said, “Both Citizens and Farmers have been notified. They’re watching the accounts.”

  “Okay, then,” DeMarco said. He looked from face to face. “We do what we can do. Any questions?”

  Flores started to raise her hand, then pulled it back down. She asked, “So our job is to get Sonny to unconfess? And their job,” with a nod toward Boyd, “is to get McNulty to…to what? Turn on Reddick?”

  “He abandoned her,” DeMarco said. “That’s the only pitch that’s going to make her flip. They’ve been together awhile; she’s more of a partner than the others were. She has to be convinced that Reddick doesn’t share her loyalty. That he sold her out. Left her behind as the sacrificial lamb. If she can be convinced that he isn’t coming back for her, she’ll be ours.”

  “You don’t sound very optimistic about Sonny being of any help.”

  “I’m not. I expect that his cowardice will overrule what’s left of his neocortex. But we’re going to give it our best shot, aren’t we, partner?”

  Flores nodded. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Seventy-Three

  DeMarco: “You screwed the pooch this time, Sonny. Killed that pretty young woman.”

  Jakiella (weeping): “You can’t put that on me. She called me to come get her. I didn’t even know about those damn pills.”

  Flores: “Wa wa wa. Dead is dead, Sonny. How long have you been her supplier?”

  Jakiella: “We were trying to get her clean! That’s what both of us wanted.”

  DeMarco: “And you do that how? By getting her drunk and snorting heroin?”

  Jakiella: “She was freaking out, man. It was her idea. She needed to calm down, that’s what it was all about. I would’ve done anything for her.”

  Flores: “Well, you sure did, didn’t you? All the way to the grave.”

  Jakiella fell forward against the table’s edge, lay atop his hands secured at the wrist, pressed his forehead to the metal tabletop. His body shook convulsively with every sob. They allowed it to continue, waited for him to wear himself out with misery. After a couple of minutes, the interrogation began again.

  DeMarco: “You owe her the truth, Sonny. We know you didn’t kill those people. We know you don’t have it in you.”

  Flores: “You need to start thinking about the living now. Think about your children. You love your daughters, don’t you? Do you realize how screwed up they’re going to be if they go through life believing you killed three people? Every time they close their eyes they will see two women burning up in a car, a man screaming because you’re driving rebar into his chest. My father did that, they’ll think. I’m the daughter of a monster.”

  DeMarco: “Is that what you want, Sonny? You want to ruin your daughters’ lives?”

  Flores: “Sit up, Sonny. Sit up and look at us, you coward!”

  Jakiella lifted his head off the table. He sat hunched over, his head barely high enough that he could look at Flores’s chin, his arms hanging limp as if he were holding on to something heavy, something like two buckets of lead that were pulling his shoulders down and making his head lag forward, made his knees ache all the time for no apparent reason, made the base of his spine feel on the verge of being crushed. Something weighty and awkward he could not release, an integral part of him as indelible as a massive keloid scar. Something like guilt.

  DeMarco: “We have McNulty too. She’s in the Mercer County Jail right now. And you know what? She agrees with you. She’s blaming everything on you. Her words, if I recall correctly, are that Sonny Jakiella is the worst kind of scum. A weasel, I think she called you. A worm.”

  Flores: “How do you feel about that, Sonny? You said you aren’t responsible for Amber’s death but you are responsible for the others. How does that work? Why don’t you just take all the blame for everything and let Reddick and McNulty skate? Let them go off and do it all over again to somebody else.”

  DeMarco: “What do you say we do a polygraph, Sonny? How about we get one in here and get you hooked up?”

  Jakiella: “Those things aren’t admissible and you know it.”

  DeMarco: “They carry some weight with the jury though. Juries love polygraph tests.”

  Flores: “And how is that going to look when you fail the test? The whole world will think you’re the biggest fool in the universe. You will go down in history as a bad joke. Your children, your grandchildren, that’s how they’re going to remember you.”

  DeMarco: “The only way you change any of that, Sonny, is to tell the truth.”

  Flores: “Did Reddick hold a gun on you to make you help? Or was it Mic
ki? I can see her with the gun. Reddick gives the orders and Micki holds the gun. Tell me if I’m wrong.”

  Again they waited. Jakiella’s sobbing had abated but his body still quivered. Whether from the drug and alcohol withdrawal or the chill of the room was unimportant. His eyes had gone blank—cold wet marbles gone blind to everything but misery.

  Jakiella: “I need to think about this. You need to let me alone awhile so I can think straight.”

  DeMarco: “We’ve laid out your options fairly clearly, Sonny. There are only two of them.”

  Flores: “Hold to your lie and be despised by your children, or man up and tell the truth. Which are you going to do?”

  Jakiella: “Just leave me alone awhile. Please just give me some time to think.”

  DeMarco looked at Flores; nodded.

  Flores: “All right, take a little time, then. Talk to Amber about it. Ask her what she would want you to do.”

  At the mention of Amber’s name, he collapsed into sobs again, chin tucked into his chest, eyes squeezed shut. DeMarco and Flores stood.

  DeMarco: “We’ll see you again soon.”

  Flores: “Think about Amber. Think very, very hard.”

  Jakiella, hoarsely: “Sully. Call her Sully.”

  DeMarco: “She was Amber Marie Sullivan. Intelligent, beautiful, sensitive…a poet. A good, decent person with a lifetime of bad breaks. And she was your only friend. The only person in the world who trusted you. That’s who she was, Sonny. And don’t you ever forget it. That is precisely who she was.”